


Teach Me How To Feel

by GubraithianFire



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, Five Year Mission, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining, Pining Sherlock, Rimming, Safe Sex in Space, Sensitive Hands, Sherlock and John are Kirk and Spock eiufgiuef, Shore Leave, T'hy'la, ozh'esta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GubraithianFire/pseuds/GubraithianFire
Summary: You're vulnerable,

  You're vulnerable.

  You are not a robot.

  You're lovable,

  So lovable.
Sherlock had never thought he would have liked his new captain.





	Teach Me How To Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaah where to start? A huge, enormous THANK YOU to the amazingly talented Pauline @[Salambo06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06), who deserves y'all to go read her fics _now._
> 
> Also a gigantic I LOVE YOU to Ren @[neetols](http://neetols.tumblr.com) who helped me immensely with this fic, and provided endless source of inspiration.

1.

 

John Hamish Watson. The youngest captain to ever walk on the USS Enterprise bridge.

There were, obviously, many rumours about the man. He was known to be impulsive, prone to fits of rage, and a breaker of rules. But he was also steady, patient and compassionate, qualities that had won him the title of Captain at only twenty-eight.

If you asked the Human crew of the Enterprise, most would say they were ecstatic at the idea of meeting the infamous John H. Watson.

Newly-promoted First Officer Sherlock Holmes, not so much.

He was honestly appalled at the idea of having to be subjected to the commands of this illogical, probably too young and obviously inexperienced man.

Captain Pike had been a good captain, one of the rare to actually listen to him, so why couldn’t things stay the same?

Sherlock considered once more leaving the Enterprise to start anew on another ship. But that would be irrational, he thought, without a proper meeting with John Watson first. It was already obvious that he was going to despise the new captain, but part of him was curious, and Sherlock realised he actually wanted to meet the man before making any decision he might come to regret.

Which is why he was waiting with a unexpected impatience, standing on the bridge on the USS Enterprise and ready to shake hands with the new captain, along with the other high ranks of the ship. As protocol ordered, they were standing in a line, and he already could already  hear the female Humans giggling as John Watson shook their hands. Sherlock tsk’d. He had to remember to write a negative report on their conduct later.

“Ah, I didn’t know my First Officer was Vulcan,” John Watson said when he found himself in front of him.

Sherlock had to admit he was a handsome Human, with deep, blue eyes and sandy hair. His lips were thin and incredibly pink, and his muscles well-defined. He was way shorter than Sherlock, who stared at him from above as he arched one of his Vulcan-shaped eyebrows.

“Problem?”

John Watson beamed at him, shaking his head, and then proceeded to bow respectfully, his hands clasped behind his back.

Startled, Sherlock bowed as well. That was... oddly considerate.

John Watson hadn’t touched his hands.

 

\---

 

Sherlock’s very Human mother had been most pleased with her son when he had declined a position at the Vulcan Science Academy to apply to the Starfleet. She believed, oh-so humanly so, that the Starfleet was the best option Sherlock could opt for, and had told him that she was, “Immensely proud of him.” While ignoring entirely her husband’s disapproving eyes next to her.

Sherlock’s Vulcan father had been logically disappointed in Sherlock, but also illogically ashamed. It was too much even for a Vulcan to hear his son being called _kre’nath_ , bastard, by his colleagues once the news had spread.

But Sherlock didn’t care about other people’s opinion, and had done as he pleased. He had graduated top of his class, and had been promoted Lieutenant shortly after. He had served well under Captain Pike’s command, and had earned his position as First Officer at only twenty-six.

Yet, he found himself in a odd position. The Vulcan side, pragmatic as always, told him he should leave the Enterprise as soon as possible. Because it was possible that Sherlock had humanly blushed when John Watson had smiled at him, and that was a dangerous, dangerous reaction.

His Human side, though, assured him that he should stay. That John Watson would be a good Captain, even if Sherlock had no solid proof of that yet. It was simply a gut feeling, and Sherlock had learned to trust those a long time ago. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, teeth nipping at his lower lips and the same questions going on a loop inside his head. The USS Enterprise would leave the morning after, and he still didn’t know whether he was going to be on it or not.

John’s blue eyes invaded his thoughts again, and he couldn’t, not for the love of him, take those stupid, stupid eyes out of account as he made his decision.

 

\---

 

The very next morning, at 0900, Sherlock found himself in the Enterprise control room, at his new station as First Officer.

After hours spent staring at the darkness of his room, he had decided to give this new captain a chance after all, and if John Watson’s eyes and smile had played a (major) role in his decision, well, Sherlock was going to ignore that fact entirely.

He watched as Captain Watson looked around his new crew, nodding at them all.

“Alright,” he said, smiling at his helmsmen, “Let’s fly some ship.”

And then they were off for their quinquennial mission.

 

2.

 

“Mr. Holmes, do you speak Andorian?” Captain Watson asked, almost casually, as a horde of Andorians chased the both of them through the ruins of an ancient palace.

“Lieutenant Hooper is our linguistics expert,” Sherlock replied, grabbing Watson’s arm to make sure the man was following  him  behind some bricks.

“Well, Molly isn’t here on Andoria now, is she?” Watson hissed.

Sherlock remained stoic as ever as he raised his hands above his head and walked out of his hideaway.

“Bip!” He yelled, and heard Watson stifle a laugh.

“It means peace in Andorian,” Sherlock explained, at loss as to why his captain found the word so amusing.

“It’s just a funny word coming from you,” Watson commented, making Sherlock bristle a bit.

 _I am in control of my Human emotions,_ he thought as his captain’s laughter filled the air again.

Shaking his head, Sherlock quickly recovered some posture and put to good use his knowing of  macaronic Andorian.

 

\---

 

Two hours later, and they were free to be teleported aboard the Enterprise, Watson laughing his arse off and telling everyone about how _adorable_ Sherlock had been when he spoke Andorian. It was quite annoying, Sherlock thought while hiding another smile.

(And a tiny bit endearing.)

 

3.

 

Sherlock was born and raised on Vulcan, but somehow, he had never been too good at being Vulcan. All he could feel, from the day he was born on that sandy, deserted planet, was boredom. And an overwhelming loneliness.

Which, must as well say it, didn’t suit well with his father for rather obvious reasons.

“I am bored!” Sherlock used to cry when he was a kid, to the abysmal of his father and older, perfectly Vulcan brother Mycroft.

His mother would only hug him and find some interesting Terran books to read, but still, Sherlock’s days all looked the same.

That was one of the numerous  reasons why he had refused to study at the Vulcan Science Academy, and chose to move to planet Earth instead. It was new, refreshing, and so far from being boring that Sherlock had spent hours trying to discover as much as he could about this planet and his inhabitants. The Starfleet courses were, as expected, much more interesting, and surprisingly, his Human professors much more stimulating.

Still, if there was one downside, well, that was the complete idiocy of Sherlock’s classmates. They used to mock him and teased him, surely trying to get a reaction from this half-Vulcan who dared to apply to the Starfleet, this lonely freak with a heart of ice.

They didn’t know, of course,  how much it hurt Sherlock. They had no idea, and yet, Sherlock never made it his priority to care. He had been alone for so long, he had grown to learn how to ignore the pangs of loneliness years ago.

Yet, they still asked for his help, almost daily. Sherlock had, in fact, a knack for deducing what most people couldn’t even see. Even back on Vulcan, Sherlock used to use this ability of his to keep himself busy, and apparently Humans were just as demanding as Vulcans in this matter. Stolen PADDs, everyday mysteries that happened in the Starfleet, Sherlock solved, and that abid the boredom, for a while.

 

\---

 

Of course, Sherlock’s brother came to visit.

“How do you stand it?” Mycroft asked, looking around Sherlock’s room as if every furniture was beneath him.

Sherlock arched one eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Sherlock, it is useless to beat around the bush, as to use Terran slang. You feel, you oh-so humanly feel, more than any other in our Vulcan family. Perhaps even more than our mother. How do you stand being here, with all these people treating you as if you were a machine?”

Sherlock stayed silent for a minute.

“How’s the diet?”

 

4.

 

A baby. A baby aboard the Enterprise. A Human baby.

She was the only survivor of a ship-wreck the Enterprise had tried (unsuccessfully) to avoid.

John (yes, Sherlock now used his first name, even if only in his mind) had adored the girl from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

Sherlock, not so much.

“C’mon, Mr. Holmes, hold her,” John said, smiling brightly up at him.

“No, thank you.”

John kept on smiling, and Sherlock sighed before he could stop himself (sighing was not very Vulcan of him) and extended his arms to accept the baby.

She was light, incredibly so, and her verdigris eyes bore into his with intensity. Sherlock felt warmth radiating from his stomach to the tip of his fingers, where they connected with the soft skin of the baby. Before he could stop himself, he lifted two fingers and touched her cheek, in a Vulcan mother-son kiss.

When he looked up, John was staring raptly at him, his breathing accelerated and his pupils slightly dilated.

Sherlock recoiled immediately.

“Take her back,” he said, and ignored John’s slightly disappointed face.

 

\---

 

Sherlock didn’t say a word when Heleina started toddling around, following every step he took. The rest of the crew found the pair incredibly amusing, though.

“Heleina,” Sherlock said, looking down at Heleina’s teary eyes, “crying over your broken teddy bear is illogical and unproductive.” Heleina started up at him, her lips trembling. “It will get fixed, stop crying.”

“Mr. Holmes, you can’t say to a Human baby she is being illogical by crying.”

Sherlock turned to John, leaning with his shoulder against the open door that led into Heleina’s room.

“I believe I just did that, Captain. And, please, do observe;” he pointed to Heleina,  “she stopped crying.”

John chuckled, then walked up to scoop Heleina in his arms.

“I’m gonna miss this little bean when we leave her to her adoptive family on Earth VI.”

“Missing her would be irrational;” Sherlock replied, watching as John brushed his lips against the girl’s foreheads in a soft kiss.  “We can call her and make sure she is fine whenever we want.”

John sighed, settling Heleina on his hip.

“Mr. Holmes, don’t play this game with me.” John’s eyes found his, and it appeared that Sherlock couldn't look away. “I know you’re gonna miss her too, you’re the one who bonded with her the most.”

“Missing someone is not an emotion Vulcans feel.”

Sherlock turned to leave, listening as John started to whisper to Heleina, the same thoughts running over and over in his head. _But I am half-Vulcan, and I will miss her with my whole heart_.

 

\---

 

The day they left Heleina off on Earth VI, the whole crew was on the verge of tears.

Sherlock stayed in control, pretending with efficiency he wasn’t affected. The two parts in him, Vulcan and Human, were battling for dominance. Sherlock could hear his mother’s voice, soft and comforting, assuring him he could give in and cry, while  his father whispered again and again “Crying is useless and will solve nothing.”

Sherlock listened to his Vulcan self, and watched the scene with a detachment he had learned to feign over the years, as Heleina screamed his name and kicked at her new mother.

“Heartless bastard,” helmsman Philip Anderson muttered under his breath.

“Oi,” John Watson called, angrily. “Don’t you ever dare talk to a superior like that anymore, understood?”

Anderson flushed beet red and fled the room.

“I was in no need of your help,” Sherlock said, Human annoyance poking at him.

“I know,” John smiled sadly. Then he leaned on his tiptoes and placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder as he whispered in his pointed ear, “Stop hiding what you feel.”

Before Sherlock could snap he did not know what that was suppose to mean, John was gone, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

 

5.

 

The Enterprise was under attack.

And yet, all Sherlock could focus on was John, barking orders with a steady, self-confident voice.

Days on the Enterprise were for most part boring and uneventful, except for those few missions where something dangerous happened.

In the few months John had taken his post, Sherlock had realised how in those situations, the most fascinating thing was John, only _John_.

He was a wonder to behold and Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off him.

 

\---

 

When the attack was over, John was still shouting orders, and it was captivating to witness the way everyone listened raptly and did as told immediately.

John turned to Sherlock and barked something, the usual tenderness in his eyes replaced by something feral, dangerous.

Sherlock quickly complied, and fooled himself once more as he ignored the arousal building low in his body under John’s gaze.

 

6.

 

Yeoman Morstan was pretty, intelligent and most importantly, _Human_.

One thing was certain, she wasn’t afraid to show her interest in the Captain. Sherlock had stopped counting the number of times he had seen her brush their shoulders together, bat her lashes at him or even giggle at his jokes.

Sherlock knew he shouldn’t, knew it was against his very nature but still, he couldn’t help but feel jealousy throb and pulse in him. It was blinding him entirely, a physical pain, but most importantly, it was all so desperately Human.

Worst of all, he had no idea how to make it go away.

 

\---

 

When had it happened? When had Sherlock stopped seeing his Captain as his commander, and started feeling this messy mix of Human emotions towards him? Jealousy, longing, adoration, all entangled in one, giant ball of (and Sherlock despised even thinking about that word) _pining_. There was no point in denying it though, was it? It would have been irrational.

Sherlock Holmes was pining.

And God, did it hurt.

 

\---

 

It occurred to him after days of watching his Captain being the subject of such terrible flirting, that all he needed was to know if John returned Yeoman Morstan’s feelings. But the man was so sunny and open with everyone, it was impossible to know whether the Yeoman’s attentions were unrequited.

They were on Gagarin IV, location of the Federations’ Darwin Genetic Research Station, when something unusual happened.

“Hey, Mary, could you pass me my PADD?”

_Mary? Had John called that, that Yeoman Mary?_

Sherlock flushed a deep shade of jade till the tip of his ears.

John looked in his direction and frowned, studying his expression intently.

“You alright, Mr. Holmes?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Captain?” Sherlock retorted, the usual detachment in his voice.

Then John smiled, and walked up to him, under the watch of the whole crew.

In a voice that only Sherlock could hear, he whispered, “Sherlock, honey, don’t be upset.”

Then he left with Yeoman Morstan, leaving a flustered Sherlock behind.

 

7.

 

Sherlock really couldn’t understand what game John was playing. Since that day when he had called him _honey_ , John had started to... _touch_ Sherlock more.

Brushing their shoulders together every time they passed too close to each other, resting his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back as he watched over his shoulder or even ruffling his hair when it seemed Sherlock had just said something funny, but never, ever touching his hands.

Which was both source of relief and frustration on Sherlock’s part.

Relief, because he didn’t know what he might’ve done should have John Watson touched his sensitive, oh very sensitive hands. Frustration, because all that Sherlock’s body craved was the feeling of his fingers on John’s, in _ozh’esta_ , the Vulcan kiss.

Which explained why, after days of staring at John’s hands and despite feeling foolish and irrational (but mostly Human), he decided to take the matter in his hands (quite literally).

 

\---

 

The first time it happened, he was passing John a report, and his fingers purposefully brushed against his Captain’s. Sherlock didn’t miss the way John’s breathing hitched, neither the way his hand froze mid air, even long after he had gone away.

 

\---

 

The second time it happened, they were being chased by Romulans, and Sherlock grabbed John’s hand to lead him to a repaired place.

Despite the frenzy of the battle, Sherlock felt his heart stutter and then leap, as John’s hand squeezed his and a shock of arousal ran to Sherlock’s groin.

Damn Vulcan sensitive hands.

 

\---

 

Touching John’s hands quickly became an addiction, one Sherlock had no trouble indulging in. He would find the most inane excuses to create a point of contact between his fingers and his Captain’s, anything, _everything_

Every time they touched, every time he felt the now almost familiar skin of John’s hand against his own, felt like the first time, and Sherlock couldn’t get enough.

Some days he found himself hoping he’d never have to stop.

But of course, and he really should have see it coming, it all ended.

 

8.

 

“Sherlock, you’re good at solving problems, right?”

Sherlock stared at John impassibly. “Yes, Captain.”

John smiled and nodded. “Good, then we will need your skills in our next mission.”

“Which is?” Sherlock asked as John’s eyes dropped to the file in his hand.

“Four Bajorans have died.” John replied, looking up at him again with smiling eyes. “Killed themselves.”

“Sir, I fail to see what the suicides of four Bajorans have to do with the Starfleet.”

“Ah, but here is where it gets interesting.” John said, taking a step closer. “They all took the same poison, had no relation to each other and died away from home.”

Sherlock perked up at that, a shot of interest running down his spine. That wasn’t boring, not at all, and Sherlock had been craving something to keep his mind busy and running for days now.

Finally a mystery.

“Interested?”

Sherlock inclined his head. “That does sound unusual, captain.”

 

\---

 

Once orbiting around Bajor, Sherlock and John were beamed down on the surface of the planet, and finally started to investigate. It didn’t took long for Sherlock to catch the first suspicious details and soon John was laughing as he bent and sniffed everything.

“They are murders!” Sherlock yelled in glee, as he looked around the remains of crime scene number two.

“How can you tell?” John asked, frowning.

“See?” Sherlock flapped his hands around excitedly. “Two sets of footprints! Who kills themselves in company? God, the Bajoran police is so out of its depth it’s incredible.”

John shook his head, amused, and followed promptly as they walked to the other crime scenes.

“I know who did it,” Sherlock said, at which John perked up with interest.

“Do you?”

“Who do we trust, even if don’t know them?” He asked John, as they inspected the fourth and last crime scene.

John shrugged, prompting Sherlock to continue.

“Oh, _think_ John!” He didn’t even notice that he had called John with his first name.

It was the first time.

He pretended he didn’t notice how John shivered at that, but stored the man’s reaction to his Mind Palace immediately.

“Who do we trust, when we are drunk, or lost, or late?”

John still struggled, so Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued. He was behaving particularly humanly, he noticed, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the case to care, and besides, John seemed to rather like this part of him.

“Who takes us where we need, when we don’t know where we are going?”

John’s eyes widened comically.

“You mean like some sort of cabbie?”

Sherlock smirked.

“Exactly like some sort of cabbie.”

 

\---

 

The last victim had placed her ID chip on her killer.

Sherlock had deduced it as soon as he had seen the crime scene but had chose not to tell a thing to John. The thrill of the chase was too strong to resist, and Sherlock knew John would have called the local authorities immediately. He could do this. Which is why that evening, as John asked to be teleported aboard the Enterprise for the night, Sherlock had claimed to have forgotten something on the third crime scene. As soon as John was up on the ship, Sherlock made the ID chip beep, and then jumped on the cab with the killer. With one last thought of John and his worried eyes when he had left Sherlock alone back here, he turned off every communication with the Enterprise.

 

\---

 

The trick was simple. Two pills, one bad, one good.The cabbie and the victim chose one each, and then swallowed together. Neat.

“And now, Mr. Holmes-”

The cabbie’s words were cut by the sound of a phaser set on ‘kill’ echoing through the room.

Sherlock jumped back, finding a murderous John on the other side of the room.

“Are you actually insane, Sherlock!?” He yelled, throwing the phaser to the ground, glaring at him, his nostrils flaring.

“How did you find me?” Sherlock asked, shocked. Too shocked to hide his emotions behind the usual aplomb.

“Shut up, that’s not important, you utter idiot, were you going to take that goddamn pill?”

“I…” Sherlock stopped, his breathing ragged as John walked even closer. “I was bored.”

“Of what!” John cried out, “Of the Enterprise, of the missions, of me?”

“N-no, you’re never boring, sir please...” he begged. Sherlock Holmes was begging.

John ran a hand through his hair.

“I honestly thought we had something, Sherlock.”

Then he spoke into his communicator, “Mr. Lestrade, beam us up.”

He sounded awfully tired of all sudden, Sherlock thought as he couldn’t help but worry he had just ruined everything.

 

\---

 

Sherlock was Mr. Holmes again, the First Officer John came to for help only, and nothing else.

Even worse, John stopped touching him entirely.

Sherlock kept his hands to himself as well.

 

9.

 

Two weeks of no contact, and shore leave came.

They had exactly one week on Earth of pure leisure.

Before the whole Bajor business, Sherlock had imagined spending that week with John. He had thought he had read in the man some interest, but whatever it was, it had disappeared the night of the shooting.

“Oh, Sherlock,” his landlady called when he was beamed on the ground, hugging him tight.

“Mrs. Hudson...” Sherlock growled, half-annoyed and half-embarrassed, but he repressed everything.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, letting him go and pinching his cheek. God, she always made him feel like a child.

“It is pleasurable to see you again too,” Sherlock replied coldly, and she beamed at him.

“You must tell me everything!” She chirped. “For example, is that handsome boy your Captain?”

“ As you can already discern by his uniform his rank, Mrs. Hudson, I don’t see how my confirmation would change anything for you.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled.

Sherlock started following her down the road, not listening to a single word she uttered and watching instead John Watson’s and Mary Morstan’s retreating backs as they left the Starfleet headquarter with their arms linked.

 

\---

 

That evening Sherlock bid Mrs. Hudson goodnight very early, and shut himself in his room.

He lied on his bed and tried to meditate, as his father had taught him to do every night. But every time he closed his eyes, John’s face came into view, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He saw, again and again, John’s smile as they investigated each crime scene, remembered his body, so very close as the hours passed, and the same pang of regret overtook him.

Frustrated, and frustrated at being frustrated, Sherlock sat up on the bed with a groan. Be damned the day he had decided to stay aboard the USS Enterprise.

With a sad sigh, he propped himself up, resting his back against the headboard. He couldn’t help but picture John with Yeoman Morstan on a Terran date, maybe to the holomovies, or sharing a romantic dinner somewhere.

He imagined them holding hands, and felt tears prickle at his eyes.

 _Repress_.

He tried to shove down his emotions, to undo the knot in his throat, but it was useless.

New images filled his mind.

John, smiling at him as they shared a meal.

John, his arm linked with Sherlock’s, as they walked home.

John, touching his two fingers to Sherlock’s in _ozh’esta_.

John, kissing him the Human way, his thin, pink lips touching Sherlock’s tenderly.

Without even noticing it, Sherlock had started to dig his right thumb into his left palm, creating slow, circular movements.

 _I am masturbating for the first time_.

Sherlock would have been ashamed of himself, but a warm, new pleasure was settling in his stomach, and he couldn’t stop.

He played with his left hand, rubbing his thumb on his palm, dragging fingers on fingers. Suddenly he heard a moan, and it took him a while to realise it had been him the source of the sound. He bit on his lower lip, to avoid making any other embarrassing whine, and have Mrs. Hudson hear him.He could feel his skin growing heated, his pants growing tighter and tighter. Then he tentatively lifted his hand and suckled on one finger.

It was almost too much.

Too far gone to care about dignity, he started playing around his fingers with his tongue, shivering and muttering nonsense.

When he finally came, John’s name on his lips, it wasn’t as satisfactory as he had imagined self pleasure would be.

 

10.

 

The first thing Sherlock felt when the rock hit him on the head was numbness. Then came the blinding pain and the realisation that he had probably cracked his skull.

They were on Reichenbach II, and the locals had warned them about the literal waterfalls of rocks of their planet. By some back luck, Sherlock happened to stand under one of them, stupidly so, and now was lying senseless on the ground.

Idiot.

Luckily for him, he was half-Vulcan, and knew how to enter a healing trance. He concentrated on the cracked bone, and visualised it as it repaired itself. Slowly, the pain went away, and Sherlock started to wake up.

Muffled, a voice was calling his name, with an edge of desperation in it that had Sherlock’s heart ache for strange reasons. No one should sound that panicked.

“Sherlock? Oh my God please wake up, Sherlock?”

Sherlock opened his eyes, flinching at the sudden light.

“Oh my God,” John cried out, relieved.

Sherlock focused on his blurry figure. Had John been crying?

“You weren’t breathing, Sherlock, you weren’t breathing...”

Ah.

“It’s called healing trance,” He tried to explain, but found himself an armful of John Watson.

The captain was crying in his shoulder, sobs ripping through his compact body, and Sherlock didn’t hesitated much before hugging  the man back.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

It was the first time he had ever apologized to someone and meant it, Sherlock thought, but most of all, he realised John was touching him again and leant into the touch without restrain.

 

\---

 

John looked like he would never be able to let Sherlock go as Doctor Mike Stamford visited him.

“He’s alright,” Stamford said with a kind smile.

Still, John was gripping Sherlock’s right sleeve as though his life depended on it.

“I’m fine, Captain, see?” Sherlock attempted a smile, and ignored Stamford’s stunned face. Sherlock’s smiles were a rare sight, and everyone knew it.

John nodded slowly and let go, a bit pale.

“Never do it again,” he commanded, before leaving the room.

 

11.

 

John was calling him ‘Sherlock’ again.

But, most importantly, John was touching him again.

They were different touches, though, almost clinical, as if the older man was looking for injuries on Sherlock’s body.

It took three weeks for Sherlock to grow tired of this behaviour

“Sir, will you please take into account the hypothesis that I did not die on Reichenbach II?”

They were alone in Sherlock’s quarter’s, everyone already in bed.

John grit his teeth. “You... You were dead. Two whole minutes of you... not breathing and-” He stopped, staring at him for long seconds. “You cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to see the person you-”

He took a deep breath.

Sherlock felt hope surge in his body.

“Finish the sentence,” he demanded.

John glared at him. “What do you care anyway, the only emotions you will ever feel are boredom and interest if there’s some mystery to solve.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s wrist and held it up. Then he lifted his own hand and almost touched John’s fingers.

He hesitated.

“That is inaccurate,” he said, “I do feel other emotions, much as I try not to.”

With a soft gasp, John touched his two digits to Sherlock’s.

“We are kissing now, right?” John asked, in wonder.

“Yes,” Sherlock simply replied.

John looked rapt, and ran his fingers to the centre of Sherlock’s hand.

Shivering, Sherlock drew back.

“That was a bit too much,” he explained, to John’s confused expression.

John smiled softly at him. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“In _ozh’esta_ or the Terran way?”

“Both,” John replied with a warm smile.

“You’re my first _ozh’esta_. And I have never kissed any Human,” Sherlock replied earnestly.

John flushed a deep red, his breathing became slightly erratic, his pupils dilated.

“I see that my statement has caused arousal in you,” Sherlock noted, and John let out a strangled laugh.

“You can say that again, yeah.” He shook his head before looking at Sherlock from under his lashes. “How long?”

Sherlock pondered the question. “I think... I think since the day we met, when you bowed to me instead of shaking my hand. I found it incredibly respectful.”

“Me too,” John said, “Since I saw you on that bridge. You were so beautiful and aloof and unmarred, I have wanted you since then.”

Sherlock’s heart sank a little.

“If you are only looking for a physical relationship, know that Vulcans aren’t prone to that. We bond for life.”

John looked panicked, “No, no, no, shit, what I mean is, fuck. I mean, it started out as physical attraction, but the more time we spent together, the more I fell in love with you.”

Sherlock’s mind didn’t compute.

“Could you repeat that?”

John smiled. “I said I’m in love with you.”

Sherlock wanted to ask oh-so many questions, first and foremost _why_ , why would someone like John love someone like him, but no sound came out of his mouth.

Not when John had grabbed his hand and was touching his fingers again.

 

\---

They stumbled into Sherlock’s bedroom with their fingers intertwined, and fell onto the bed.

“Explain to me how Vulcan hands work,” John asked breathlessly when Sherlock couldn’t stifle a moan at the feeling of John’s calloused fingers on his smooth ones.

“Vulcans’ hands serve the purpose of channelling our telepathic abilities, but are also an erogenous zone. Let’s say like... like a clitoris, in Human females.”

“Holy shit,” John rasped, “So all the times you have been touching my hands...”

Sherlock blushed a deep shade of green.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sherlock, we have made out the Vulcan way, can you please call me John, at least in your bedroom?”

Sherlock blushed even more, and nodded sheepishly.

“Now,” John murmured, “Let’s put these hands of yours to good use...”

This being said, John took Sherlock’s hands in his and started gently running his fingers on Sherlock’s palms.

Sherlock shivered and bit  his lower lip.

“No, no, no, honey, let me hear you,” John said, and Sherlock let out an undignified whine when John licked a wet stripe on his right palm.

“Amazing,” John whispered, staring in wonder at Sherlock’s hands.

Sherlock had never thought he would have found a “mate”, in the Vulcan sense of the word. Too Human for his fellow Vulcans and too Vulcan for the Terrans, he was caught in a limbo he couldn’t escape.

But right now, with John calling him amazing on his bed, Sherlock could do nothing but think that maybe, John Watson was his _t’hy’la_ . Friend, brother, lover, _everything._

John played with his hands until Sherlock was a blubbering mess, then he suddenly stopped.

“Why did you stop?” Sherlock asked, completely out of breath, his pants painfully tight.

John passed a hand through his golden hair.

“You’ve never done anything, right?”

Sherlock cocked his head. “If you are enquiring about the state of my virginity, the answer is yes, I am a virgin.”

John took a deep breath.

“And you’re fine with me being your... first time?”

Sherlock couldn’t believe his ears.

“John, _ashayam_ , you’re the only one.”

John grinned at that, his breathing accelerating as he asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘beloved’,” Sherlock explained, “That’s you.”

“I really want to kiss you the Human way. Can I...?” John leaned forward, and waited until Sherlock nodded to touch their lips together.

It was the barest of touches.

It was a detonation.

It was the most significant touch Sherlock had ever shared with another being.

He gasped, as John deepened the kiss, bringing up one hand to trail into his curly, dark hair. Sherlock did not know how to kiss and it was painfully evident in the way his long nose bumped against John repeatedly, how their teeth clicked together, and the way, at one point, in which Sherlock bumped his forehead against John’s.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, breaking the kiss.

John shook his head, “Don’t be, I mean, _wow_ , that fucked me up for good.”

Sherlock smiled, a bit shy. “In a good way?” He asked.

John returned the grin. “Definitely in a good way.”

Then John took him by his shoulders and lowered him on his back, his head softly hitting the pillows behind him. John kissed him again, but this time he added a hint of tongue. Sherlock panicked, not knowing what to do, but John just caressed his cheek and nipped at his bottom lip softly.

Getting the hint, Sherlock pried his mouth open, and John slowly inserted his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, giving him time to back away had he not liked it.

But, _oh_ , how Sherlock did.

After a while he even got the hang of it and started to play with John’s tongue, delighted that he could elicit soft moans from the older man this way. John took Sherlock’s wrists in his hands, without breaking the kiss, and pinned Sherlock to the mattress, his knee coming to rest against Sherlock’s groin.

Sherlock moaned loudly, breathing ragged, and tentatively rolled his hips against John’s knee, seeking friction. A sharp shock of pleasure ran down his spine, the blood in his head all rushing south. This was oh-so different from that time he had touched himself. It was more acute in pleasure, more intense, more exhilarating, _more_.

“John,” he begged, trying to free his hands from his Captain’s hold, to touch and feel.

“Oh no, you don’t,” John growled, leaning up to capture one of Sherlock’s fingers in his hot, wet mouth.

Sherlock’s hips moved of their own volition, rubbing his erection against John’s knee again and again.

“Can I make you come just by your hands?” John asked, suddenly looking predatorily at him.

“Yes,” Sherlock gasped, and John dipped again to suck and lick at his fingers and palm, nipping at the soft skin with gentleness.

Sherlock withered and moaned, rolling his hips desperately, until he felt his orgasm build in his stomach and then everything went blank.

“Holy fuck,” John said, in wonder, and then kissed Sherlock full on the mouth.

“John,” Sherlock said, when the man drew back, “it hasn’t failed my notice that you still have to relieve yourself. Is there anything I can do to help?”

John giggled, kissing Sherlock’s cheek.

“You don’t have to. We can call it a night.”

Sherlock frowned. “I think I recall both Humans involved in a coitus need to orgasm, in order for it to be a real coitus.”

John looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired to continue?”

Sherlock regulated his breathing. “Of course I’m not.”

John kissed his cheek again. “Okay then.” He kissed him for long seconds before adding, “What do you wanna do, then?”

Sherlock didn’t reply with words; in silence, he rolled on his belly, and then stood on his knees and palms, presenting John his bum. It should have been shameful and humiliating, but Sherlock could feel neither of these emotions, not as he heard John gasp loudly behind him.

“Are you sure? I don’t have any…”

Sherlock scoffed. “Yes, I am sure. And don’t worry, I have some lubricant in the top drawer.”

Sherlock could feel the frown in John’s voice as he asked, “Why did you take lube aboard?”

Sherlock flushed a deep green. “I found that… I derive more pleasure… If I rub my palm with lubricated fingers,” he explained.

“Oh,” John rasped, eyes dark and tongue licking his lips. “Okay then. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

John started to drag Sherlock’s regulation trousers off until they were at his ankles, kissing each inch of skin revealed. He let the piece of clothing fall on the floor before getting rid of his pants. Sherlock was growing hard again. How could he not with John’s hands on his arse, spreading his cheeks wide apart.

“Beautiful,” John murmured, and that was all Sherlock heard before John’s tongue was licking at his entrance.

He swore in Vulcan, and bit down on his closed fist. John kept licking and sucking and fucking him with his tongue until Sherlock was hard again and begging for John to just _get on with it_.

John chuckled, and slapped his right arse cheek playfully. “Aye, First Officer Holmes.”

Sherlock felt John lean to the side and retrieve the bottle of lubricant Sherlock kept so accurately hidden. He heard him uncapped it and squirt some lube onto his fingers. “Are you ready?” John asked, to which Sherlock just groaned.

Amused, John pushed his index finger inside him. Sherlock tensed at the intrusion, even after having been loosened by John’s tongue.

“Shh love, relax or it will hurt.”

Sherlock had never felt something like that, though, and couldn’t find the strength to relax. John started wiggling his finger around, as if looking for something.

“A-aah!” Sherlock screamed when John’s fingers found his sensitive, sensitive prostate. John kept brushing against the bundle of nerves again and again, and Sherlock found himself relaxing his hole more and more.

“That’s it, love,” John encouraged him, adding a second, then a third finger. John’s other hand came to rest at his nape, pushing Sherlock’s face down on the pillows.

“Enough, John,” Sherlock was delirious. He felt like he needed to be _filled_. The strangest of sensations.

“Alright,” John conceded, out of breath.

Sherlock heard him squeeze some more lube (presumably) on his cock, and then he felt something blunt and hard push at his hole.

“Ready?” John asked again, and Sherlock nodded, his cheek rubbing against the pillowcase.

Then John was pushing in.

And God, did it hurt. But the pain added to some sort of strange _pleasure_ , and Sherlock found himself drooling on the pillow as John’s length invaded him.

When he was all the way inside, John stopped, giving Sherlock time to adjust.

“Move,” Sherlock croaked out.

“Are you sure?” John asked, one hand on Sherlock’s hip, the other at his nape.

“Yes, please.”

And John moved.

 

\---

 

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was obscene, Sherlock’s cheeks were drenched in tears, his body quivering.

John’s hand was wrapped around his painfully hard cock and pulled, making Sherlock scream and bite down the pillow. He gripped the headboard in front of him and pushed back against John, seeking more and more pleasure. He came first, at a particularly well angled thrust that hit his prostate just right.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John cried out, as he came inside of him. It was filthy, and sticky, and warm, and _glorious_.

John rested his head against Sherlock’s back.

“Jesus Christ,” was all John said.

“I hope that exclamation is you stating you enjoyed our time together.”

“Bloody hell yes I did,”  John exclaimed, a tad out of breath. “You were amazing,” he added.

Sherlock blushed a bit under the praise.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” He only replied.

John slid out of him and rolled Sherlock onto his back. “What is that?”

Sherlock smiled. “It means you’re stuck with me for ever.”

John grinned back. “You bloody well bet it.”

 

12.

 

_Four years later_

“ – and that’s what I told Mrs. Turner, you know- oh my!”

Sherlock had come back from his five-year mission on the Enterprise, and had gone straight to bed, without saying hi to Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson who had of course just barged into Sherlock’s room with his usual breakfast.

The thing was, Sherlock wasn’t alone in bed.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock exclaimed, covering him and John with the duvet.

“Oh dear, I didn’t know you had company!”

Sherlock hoped she’d get the message and leave the room but it appeared she wasn’t going to without at least some introductions were made.

“Mrs. Hudson, meet Captain John Watson. John, meet my landlady, Mrs. Hudson.”

John, his face flushed red, nodded at the woman.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hudson scoffed. “No _ma’am_ nonsense, call me Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock’s friends are my friends, after all.”

John smiled awkwardly, and Mrs. Hudson grinned brightly at him.

“I’m so happy my Sherlock has found a handsome man like you,” she added, and oh my God, was she crying?

“Mrs. Hudson, would you mind…?” Sherlock cocked his head to the door, and she finally got the message.

“Oh, where are my manners? John, I shall cook your breakfast. Be presentable in ten minutes!”

She closed the door behind herself, leaving a shocked John behind.

“She’s quite a character, isn’t she?”

Sherlock chuckled quietly. “You can say that, yes.”

They remained silent for a bit before laughing quietly.

“That was so _not_ the way I imagined our first day on Earth like,” John said, when the laughter died down.

“And what had you imagined?” Sherlock asked, wiggling his high eyebrows. He was still learning how to flirt, after all.

John grinned at him, biting his lower lip.

“I can demonstrate you.”

 

\---

 

“That… was amazing,” John panted, throwing an arm around Sherlock’s frame.

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

John slipped his hand in Sherlock’s, and squeezed, making him shiver.

“I love you, Sherlock. I really, truly do,” John murmured.

Sherlock, despite hearing those words quite often now, felt the wind being knocked out of him. It was always like the first time.

“I love you too, _ashayam_.”

John kissed his cheek, and after long minutes spend under the warm duvet,  they got up and dressed before going to meet meeting Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen for breakfast.

She asked, of course, an awful lot of questions.

Sherlock should have been annoyed, but surprisingly, he wasn’t. Maybe because John was looking at him like he was the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on, answering all of Mrs. Hudson’s questions with a mix of pride and amusement.

Sherlock thought back on his lonely childhood, and smiled.

Yes, he had really come a long way.

**Author's Note:**

> The whole "Vulcan hands are as sensitive as a clitoris" thing is inspired by the fic "[Just One More (It Couldn't Hurt)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/890411) by summerofspock. 
> 
> Song in the title and summary is "I am not a robot" by Marina & the Diamonds. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave comments and kudos! 
> 
> Find me on the tungle @[caspu](http://caspu.tumblr.com) :) <3


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